Time's Arrow
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: After accidentally inhaling vapour de-aging serum, Sherlock is turned into a 4 year old. Here is a compilation of stories based on this child and his doctor/father.
1. Chapter 1

**As mentioned at the end of one of my other stories, I've been reading a number of 'Little Sherlock' and 'Daddy John' stories recently and decided to write my own. I have a few written already but would like to see how this one is received before posting them. I don't have a designated number of chapters for this series (should I continue it) and instead will just post them as I feel comfortable; its unlikely they will be in any specific order. **

**Obviously, Sherlock is going to be out of character in this. **

**I apologise for any mistakes. **

**Time's Arrow**

"Dummy?" Doctor John Watson offered as he carefully ran the red and blue pacifier along Sherlock's bottom lip, enticing the child to open up his mouth and take in the soother. The pair were peacefully resting on John's bed, Sherlock having followed him up there, claiming that he didn't want to be left on his own. Sherlock was lying comfortably on his back, his little hands balled into relaxed fists and resting on John's pillow above his head of dark, curly air, his beautiful blue eyes tired and dancing around John's face. Sherlock happily began suckling on the teat of the pacifier, soft breaths coming from his nose as he burrowed into John's bed slightly. His small blue pyjama top had ridden up, showing the child's belly button; John was lying beside him on his left side, his large hand resting comfortingly on the little boy's chest.

"Sleep here tonight?" Sherlock mumbled around the dummy, his words slurred due to tiredness; his newly developed lisp only serving to distort the words even more. But John smiled, reaching up and running his hand through the little boy's curls before gently poking his small nose.

"Of course you can sleep in here tonight," he nodded, etching a little closer to the child and pressing a gentle, protective kiss to his forehead, curling up so that he was almost wrapped around him, sheltering him. He reached down, tugging the duvet over them both and automatically tucking it under the little boy's chin. Sherlock Holmes had been a perfectly typical, (as typical as Sherlock could get, anyway) fully grown 33 year old consulting detective when the ex-army medic turn blogger had risen from his bed that morning, but after a run-in with a criminal, a particularly odd case and some lose de-aging serum, he was now an adorable 4 year old child.

The little boy in question shifted, turning from his position on his back into one mirroring the doctor's. He pushed himself towards John and curled his little arms in on himself, his head resting against the grey shirt the ex-soldier had chosen to sleep in. John watched fondly as Sherlock's eyes drifted closed and his breathing evened out; soon enough the tiny boy was fast asleep in John's embrace.

John was pleasantly surprised to find that little Sherlock was nothing like his adult counterpart. He was a very cuddly child, caring and emotional - he absolutely adored being played with and John loved the sound of his giggle when he was tickled. He tucked into the meals John prepared for him uncomplainingly, took naps when John felt he was becoming too tired and even enjoyed himself as he and John had played with a pirate rubber ducky whilst giving him a bath before preparing him for bed. He'd quietly allowed John to brush his teeth for him and accepted a Sippy cup full of warm milk to settle down before going to sleep.

If John was honest, he had been dreading looking after him after the incident, but the child was lovely; he was obedient, pleasant to be around. Essentially, he was the exact opposite of his adult self. John had expected him to be arrogant, a genius mind trapped inside a tiny body. Be he wasn't. He appeared to be just like any other child; if he possessed an exceptionally intelligent mind, he certainly didn't show it. John knew he was going to enjoy looking after this lovely little boy.

John instinctively tightened his grip on the child in his embrace and closed his eyes, burying his nose in Sherlock's adorable curls.

**Please let me know what you think, I'd love to know whether or not you think I should continue this. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


	2. Chapter 2

**I felt that it might be a good idea to add a short flashback so that it was a bit clearer how Sherlock ended up as a child. **

**I apologise for any mistakes. **

**Flashback**

"John?" The curly haired infant was staring up at the ex-army doctor as though he had sprouted an extra couple of heads; John was looking back at the child with, what he assumed was, a matching expression. He had followed his friend into an old, run down warehouse (a rather cliché location, if you asked John), only for the dark detective to vanish and John to stumble across a small, curly haired, blue eyed little boy standing on the exact spot his flatmate had, apparently, vacated. It had taken John a few moments to realise just what it was that was happening and now he found he was waiting patiently to wake up from this, rather odd, dream. "John?" The child repeated, capturing the doctor's attention and pulling him out of his thoughts as he figured that he had to do something.

"Sherlock?" The soldier questioned, raising an eyebrow and lowering himself to his knees so that he was at eye level with the little boy; when the child nodded, John edged a little closer. "Sherlock, how old are you?" Even to John's ears the question sounded ridiculous. Sherlock Holmes was a 33 year old man. But no, now he was;

"4." Sherlock raised an unsure little hand, holding up four tiny fingers to back up his words. John sighed gently, running his left hand over his face. This was going to prove a lot of work.

"Okay, Sherlock. Aside from being a little on the," John paused, trying to find the best way to word the sentence as the child continued to stare at him, "small side. Do you feel okay?" He questioned, "You don't feel poorly?" Little Sherlock shook his head, confusion etched on his small features; an expression that was quickly replaced with one that closely resembled fear when Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan came charging in. The trio stopped beside the man and his, tiny, friend, staring down at the little boy just as John had.

"What the-" John held up his hand, stopping Anderson's train of thought before it had chance to leave the station.

"Don't ask." Is how John answered the forensic scientist's unfinished question. "Listen, Lestrade, I think it would be best if I just take him home. Obviously, he's not going to be much use on your crime scenes for a while." John rose, instinctively reaching down to lift the boy up and he turned, nodding to the forensic scientist, Detective Inspector and sergeant, before heading towards the door with the child on his hip. "I think we might need to contact Mycroft." He grumbled as he made his way onto the street.

"No!" The little boy exclaimed and John had to refrain from rubbing his ear as he looked at the child on his hip.

"Sherlock," John sighed softly, "I have no idea what to do right now. And I don't think you do either." John balanced the boy on his right arm as he ran his free hand over his face and sighed again, an action he found he had done an awful lot in the past half hour. "Jesus, Sherlock, you're a child."

"Was an accident." The little boy immediately defended his innocence; John found his newly developed lisp absolutely adorable.

"Oh, Sherlock, I know." John soothed, his hands rubbing circles on the boy's back. "I do. I know."

**Thank you for reading. Please, let me know what you think. **

**I'm open to suggestions, if anyone has any ideas for little Sherlock that they'd like to be written. The ideas might help if I get stuck. **

**Thank you for the reviews. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels**


	3. Chapter 3

**Its not a lot. But I'm quite pleased with this one. **

**I'm sorry its so short. I intend to edit the next one so its longer.**

**Sorry for any mistakes. **

**Dummy **

"John?" It was the timidity behind the small voice that pulled John from his thoughts as he stood, his hands wrapped in a towel as he stood, partway through drying the pots from lunch; he looked down, finding the curly haired 4 year old staring up at him with beautiful blue eyes, only just poking his head into the kitchen.

"Yea, Sherlock?" The ex-soldier responded, watching as the little boy took the returned communication as a cue to enter the kitchen.

"Are you mad?" Sherlock's voice held a shy undertone and John found he had to hold back an 'aw' as the little boy came closer.

"No, Sherlock," John soothed, bending down and hooking his hands under the boy's armpits, resting him on his left hip, his right hand absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles on his ribs, "I'm not mad. You did your time out and apologised like a good little boy," John elaborated, "so no. I'm not mad."

Little Sherlock smiled as he rested his hands on John's left shoulder, holding himself up; he let out an adorable giggle as John bounced slightly.

"Dummy, now?" Sherlock questioned quietly, as though he was unsure of what John's reaction would be.

"Sure, you can have your dummy now." John agreed readily, reaching up into the cupboard where he had popped it earlier after putting Sherlock into a time out; he placed the teat into Sherlock's awaiting mouth and the boy immediately began suckling. "Now, why don't you and I go and cuddle on the couch with a blanket and have story time?" John questioned softly, bouncing the little boy again.

"I'd like that." Sherlock agreed in a soft voice, his red and blue dummy enunciating his lisp.

**Thank you for reading.**

**Please, let me know what you think. I'd love to know. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here is another update for Time's Arrow. **

**Sorry this has taken so long to be updated. **

**Sorry for any mistakes. **

**Thank you for reading.**

**Sorry its short.**

Time out

"Sherlock Holmes." John didn't shout. He wouldn't. Instead, he sharpened his speech, his voice firm and clearly on its way towards 'Captain Watson', a tone Sherlock had only been on the receiving end of once, in his adult state, and it terrified him. The small boy froze on the spot, his tiny body tensing up as he stopped on his way down the hallway towards his bedroom; he slowly turned to face the adult, seeing the frustration in his face. "I should not have to tell you more than once to do something." John's voice was quiet and Sherlock could hear the anger behind his slow speech; John stood, his hands on his hips as he regarded the child, "And I certainly do not expect you to run away from me." He pointed to Sherlock's bedroom, "Get yourself in there and into the naughty corner now."

John found that he didn't have to tell him again; the small child almost tripped in his haste to get to the corner he was being directed to. Sherlock stood with the stillness of a statue. His trembling hands were the only thing that gave away that he was human as he stood, hands by his side and shoulders tensed in what John assumed was a defensive mechanism.

It wasn't long before the small 4 year old began sniffling, the sound reaching John in the kitchen as he stood, his hand resting against the work surface as he waited for the alarm to sound, signalling the end of the time out. John knew that the little boy was crying and it took all he had to continue the punishment, but he knew that he had to teach Sherlock that actions do have consequences and that his earlier behaviour was unacceptable.

"Sherlock," John kept his firm tone as he entered his bedroom at the end of Sherlock's time out; he knelt beside the body who was standing in the corner, his body turned so that he was facing the wall, his frame remained tense and his little hands were still trembling, "look at me." Sherlock turned hesitantly, but followed the instruction, looking up at John with a red face and puffy eyes, his nose was snotty and his little cheeks were shiny with tears. "I put you in a time out for not following instructions and for running away. Now," he caught the boy's gaze, "I want you to apologise."

"Sorry John." Little Sherlock lisped, keeping his head low; avoiding eye contact with the man.

"Thank you." John's voice had returned to its usual soft tone. "Can I have a hug?" The doctor held his arms out expectantly and the little boy willingly walked into them, wrapping his arms around the adult's neck. "Now, lets go and wipe your snotty nose, hmm? And then we can play."

**Thank you for reading. **

**Please let me know what you think. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's another chapter. Sorry its taken so long to update. **

**Sorry for any mistakes.**

"Sherlock!" John could feel the anger rising as he skidded to a stop in his doorway, trying to push his slipper back on his foot as his eyes scanned the room for the curly haired little boy. He'd been on the tail of the small child he had opted to care for, chasing him around the house in a bid to coax him into following the instructions John had clearly set for him. Little Sherlock had adopted a very bad attitude recently and John was quickly approaching the end of his tether. Now that he had recovered from the shock of suddenly becoming a little boy, Sherlock had taken to testing his boundaries in order to find out how far John would stretch before he snapped. He had taken to hiding underneath John's bed when he didn't want to do something and, currently, he didn't want to clean up the toys he'd been playing with.

Usually John wouldn't kick up a fuss, he'd remove the child from beneath his bed, utter a few stern words and then send him to complete what he was supposed to have been doing. Today, though, Sherlock had been playing up all morning. He hadn't wanted to get out of bed that morning and had kicked up a fuss, dissolving into tears when John had tried to calmly explain that he couldn't stay in bed all day. John had ended up physically lifting him from his bed and taking him into the bathroom to brush his teeth, having to ignore the tears that would have usually broken his heart. Sherlock had kicked at him, screaming and shouting, trying to get him to let go.

He'd followed that by throwing a tantrum, launching his breakfast across the kitchen, the milk and cereal flying into the nearby wall, spilling all over and the dish shattering. John made a mental note to purchase some plastic cutlery and crockery. Until Sherlock could prove he could eat maturely, he would have to use those. John had been disgusted at the foul language little Sherlock had used to describe his meal. John had no idea where he'd learned it, he could only assume he had overheard it at the park.

Sherlock had already been in two time outs and it wasn't even 10 am. If he didn't clean up his act, he was quickly headed towards his third.

After locating the child hiding behind his wardrobe, John entered the room, ready to grab him and take him back downstairs. He had just reached out to pick him up when Sherlock darted past him, jabbing an elbow into his weak leg and almost knocking the poor man to the floor in the process. John quickly recovered, turning and following him back downstairs and into the kitchen where he watched as Sherlock knocked over the chair he had been sitting on and was trying to tip over the table when John wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him, kicking and screaming, away from the act. He knelt down in front of him, his hands resting on his small waist to keep him in place.

"I will not have you misbehaving like this." John stated, his voice deathly quiet and Sherlock began to wriggle, clearly trying to escape his grip. "Get into your bedroom now, Sherlock," John pointed to the room down the hallway, "and don't you dare come back out until I give you permission." John let go of his small frame, still pointing towards his bedroom. He watched as Sherlock's bottom lip began to quiver and shook his head, his gaze firm. "Don't start with the crocodile tears. Go on." He gently pushed him in the direction of his bedroom. "I said _go on_. If I have to take you to your bedroom myself then there's going to be big trouble."

Sherlock reached his hands up, cupping his nose and, apparently, trying to stem the tears before they fell. A sob escaped his chest as he turned, padding off towards his bedroom, audibly crying as he did so and John couldn't help but notice that he didn't slam the door behind him as he usually would. Once he was certain the child was staying in his room, he rose from the floor, making his way over to the kitchen sink and leaning against the surface, his hands shaking slightly. His stomach was churning uncomfortably as he watched out of the window. He had dealt with Sherlock misbehaving before, of course he had, he couldn't expect him to be perfectly behaved _all_ of the time, but never had he been so destructive. John trapped his bottom lip between his teeth as his vision began to swim, a lump appearing in his throat and warm tears slowly beginning to drip down his cheeks as he found himself lost in his thoughts.

Sherlock's behaviour had been growing more challenging as he had started to settle into his small body and his new lifestyle. John had purposely been trying to make him as comfortable as he possibly could and he was happy to accommodate the expected bad behaviour, but his tantrums had been growing worse and he'd been finding himself in a lot of trouble. He'd started refusing food, arguing, shouting. He'd even begun wetting the bed, but John knew not to make a big fuss about that - it wasn't something he could be angry with him about, he just needed to accept it and help Sherlock through it. He just didn't know how to deal with it. He'd been doing so well caring for him, but his behaviour had been getting even more out of hand and John wasn't sure he could cope with him.

John pulled himself from his thoughts, glancing over at the clock on the wall, realising he'd been standing in front of the sink for the better part of an hour and little Sherlock hadn't even attempted to make a reappearance. He frowned slightly, wiping away his tears and checking his reflection in the mirror before making his way to Sherlock's bedroom. The last thing he needed was for Sherlock to find out that John was upset, or that he was struggling. He pushed open Sherlock's bedroom door, trying to locate the little boy. His gaze fell on the small child where he was knelt on the floor behind his bed, leaning on the mattress slightly, his attention focused on the door as though he had been watching for John to come and get him. He could see the glisten of tears on Sherlock's face and found himself frowning again, he couldn't believe that the poor child was still crying after so long.

"Have you calmed down now, Sherlock?" John questioned, leaning on the door handle as he watched Sherlock nod, a single tear falling from his sore eyes and onto his duvet cover. "Are you going to stop misbehaving?" Sherlock nodded once more, his small hand snaking up to his mouth which opened instinctively, ready to house his thumb. "I want you to come over here and say you're sorry." John informed, lowering himself to his knees so he was the same height as Sherlock. "And I think you owe me a cuddle, don't you?" Sherlock nodded again, slowly rising from behind his bed and hesitantly making his way around towards John who couldn't help but notice that Sherlock seemed to be afraid of him. John quickly wracked his brain, trying to recall if he had done something to frighten the child.

When he eventually emerged from behind the bed, the cause of Sherlock's hesitance was clear. Sherlock had wet himself. His grey jogging bottoms were soaked and John assumed that there would like be a wet patch on the floor where he had been kneeling, Sherlock's left hand was unconsciously resting close to his crotch, as though he was trying, futilely, to hide the damage. John froze for a moment, his mind reeling as he tried to decide whether or not this was simply an accident, that the poor boy had been unable to hold his bladder any longer, or whether it was done purposely out of disobedience. But Sherlock's pink tinted cheeks answered the question for him.

"Did you have an accident?" John purposely forced his voice to remain calm, hoping to comfort the child. "Did you wee?" He questioned as Sherlock reached him and John extended his hand to touch Sherlock's jogging bottoms in an attempt to gauge how long ago it was that the accident occurred. Sherlock nodded his head, his eyes flickering down to his trousers before returning to meet John's gaze.

"Yes, daddy," Sherlock admitted, his words muffled by his thumb.

"Why, Sherlock?" John questioned, taking Sherlock's hand, moving it away from his pants, and carefully pulling him closer. "You know what you're meant to do when you need to use the toilet."

"You said stay." Sherlock murmured, averting his gaze again, and John felt himself physically relax. It had just been an accident. Sherlock hadn't started purposely wetting out of spite. John didn't know what he'd do if the child started that.

"Of course I did." John sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Sherlock." He placed his hands on Sherlock's hips, pulling him a little closer still. "Listen, I want an apology and a cuddle and then we'll get you changed. It's almost bath time anyway." John carefully removed Sherlock's thumb from his mouth so that his speech wasn't distorted as he sniffled his way through an apology. "Shall we go for a bath now? Get you cleaned up and into your jammies?" John questioned, his arms still wrapped tightly around Sherlock's thin frame. Sherlock nodded his head into his shoulder with a little whimper.

Sherlock was oddly quiet during his bath. His little cheeks were still tinted an odd shade of pink. John had managed to coax him into playing with his duck, but he was doing so half-heartedly and John could see the unshed tears shimmering in his eyes as John washed him. He didn't speak when John lifted him out of the bath and averted his gaze as he dried him and helped him get dressed before carrying him through to the sitting room. Sherlock curled into his side as they sat on the sofa for his pre-bedtime wind-down session. John had given him his dummy and had wrapped his arm around Sherlock's little shoulders.

"Hey," John soothed, gently poking Sherlock in the chest to gain his attention. He knew that he probably shouldn't, not after Sherlock's bad behaviour, but he couldn't stand to see the little boy so upset. He was clearly ashamed of his accident and John couldn't send him to bed when he was so distressed. He'd never seen Sherlock this subdued and it made his chest ache. "How about some hot chocolate?" John was fairly certain that the beverage would do nothing to help with Sherlock's bedwetting, but he wanted him to cheer up before he put him down to sleep. "And a story?" He smiled as Sherlock nodded, readily accepting the offer.

**Thank you for reading. **

**Please let me know what you think. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


End file.
